Come Nineveh, Come Tyre: The Presidency of Edward M. Jason

by Allen Drury

  “Not as much as they need you,” Valuela said, her tone already conceding she had lost the argument. “Not as much, Ted.”

  He shook his head soberly.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anybody can say. Anyway, that’s how I see it and that’s how I’ve been playing it. I’ll ride with them now, get rid of them later. I may be mistaken, but I think I can do it.”

  “God help us if you don’t,” she said. “You play for high stakes.”

  “Don’t Jasons always?” he asked with a sudden charming grin, the first genuinely relaxed one any of them had seen from him since the death of his wife. “Come on,” he said, moving forward to give her his hand and pull her to her feet. “They’ll be coming to take us to the Cow Palace in a minute. Powder noses, zip zippers, and let’s go, family!”

  “I just KNOW everything’s going to be all right,” Patsy said earnestly.

  “Of course it is,” Selena said impatiently. “Honestly, Val!”

  “Why, certainly,” Herbert agreed in his comfortable voice.

  The doorbell rang, the guards and Secret Service appeared, they descended to the enormous glitter-gilt-and-red-velvet lobby of the Fairmont.

  A great shout went up as they appeared from the hundreds who jammed the lobby and spilled over into Mason Street. Happy excited voices called out words of good luck and good cheer, happy, excited faces beamed upon them. The violent world of NAWAC’s leaders seemed far away.

  He still, as he smiled and waved and went through the motions, wished he could have some sign that his course was the right one and that he would be strengthened in what he wanted to do; not aware that within an hour he would have one, and from a most unexpected source.

  Swiftly they were escorted down the Bayshore Highway, off at the Cow Palace exit and back through the hills, lights flashing, sirens screaming, their progress hailed by the excited waves and shouts and horn poundings of the many motorists they passed and met along the way. As they neared the huge auditorium, glowing in the center of a dozen giant searchlights stabbing the sky, they began to pass many thousands moving on foot through the quiet residential streets. Swiftly they were recognized and a great murmur of sound, welcoming, adoring, proprietary—hungry in a way that was frightening to those who listened perceptively, as he did—began to accompany his approach. He thought, as Beth had thought: I wish you were here. But Ceil was not, and he must return to the scene of the bitter convention, his great defeat and humiliation, and now his great triumph, essentially alone, though Patsy chattered briskly by his side and in the car following his uncle and aunts waved and smiled and greeted the multitudes right royally.

  When the Secret Service escorted him backstage through the solemn rows of NAWAC and the uneasy rows of state troopers, there was an instant’s hush, then pandemonium as the words “He’s here!” raced across the great hall. Sound rose, doubled, redoubled, redoubled again. The world cracked in two. He stepped upon the platform, was introduced, walked slowly to the lectern. The universe collapsed amid screams and yells and the loud, ironic thunder of the gods. He opened his notebook carefully, lifted the handsome, commanding head in a short, decisive gesture. Sound stopped, save for the distant echo of Harley Hudson’s voice in bitter denunciation, Orrin Knox’s in vigorous challenge, the President’s in angry frustration, Ceil and Valuela’s in worried puzzlement. He drew a deep breath and began. Sound was reborn and the galaxies exploded with his opening words:

  “I am here to bid you welcome to Tomorrow.”

  Five minutes later, some semblance of order restored, he went on: “Conscience must decide the issue, and on Tuesday next—it will.”

  Five minutes later, some semblance of order again restored, he was allowed to proceed for another twenty-five words before approval overwhelmed him. Then another fifty words—a hundred—seventy-five—“Six ovations in twelve minutes!” the Los Angeles Times cried ecstatically to the Kansas City Star, who could only shake his head in awe—and so on, bit by bit, line by line, little by little, for almost thirty fantastic minutes. George Wattersill had written a good speech for him, his own editings and polishings had made it into a genuinely powerful one. But still it would have been, as he knew with a certain inward melancholy, just another typical campaign speech by a Presidential candidate assured of victory had there not come, just before he was about to launch into his peroration, the dramatic interruption that was to make of it a speech never to be exceeded, on a night never to be forgotten.

  At first, when Fred Van Ackerman appeared abruptly from the curtains at his right, there was a gasp of alarm and fear from all the many thousands who filled the Cow Palace and stood in further thousands on the grounds outside, watching him on giant television screens. It was repeated in a great continent-leaping susurrus wherever men watched around the globe. “Oh, my God, not again!” the Times whispered in agonized protest to the Post. But they need not have worried. Immediately it was perceived that it was Senator Van Ackerman, that he was grinning broadly, that high above his head he waved triumphantly what appeared to be an envelope, and that there was nothing here but joy and happiness for Edward M. Jason.

  Nonetheless, he did not, at first, take kindly to being interrupted.

  “What is it?” he demanded in what began as an angry, low-voiced question but was instantly boomed around the world by all the means of communication available to man. Equally loudly came Fred Van Ackerman’s excited reply.

  “Governor, I have here a communication which I have just received from the Soviet delegation at the UN—”

  “What an odd channel for them to use,” the London Times murmured gently to the Daily Mail. “Extraordinary,” the Mail murmured back.

  “—to be delivered to you personally—and, the instructions said, prior to the finish of your speech. They tell me it is good news, Governor. Good news!”

  With a puzzled frown, while his worldwide audience quieted down in a tensely watchful silence, Ted Jason slowly opened the envelope, carefully unfolded the single sheet within, read it slowly. Then he too looked up with a pleased smile. Instantly a great rush of sound, applause and shouts, happy, excited, relieved, welled up to embrace him in warm and loving approval. When it had finally died away, he spoke with an undercurrent of excitement that communicated itself instantly. Great expectations rose.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said slowly, “I have here, as Senator Van Ackerman has announced, a message from the Soviet delegation at the UN—or rather, I should say, a message transmitted by the Soviet delegation at the UN. It is addressed to me and comes from the newly elected Chairman of the Council of Ministers. My old friend Vasily Tashikov writes to me as follows:

  “Dear Mr. President: My sincerest congratulations on your inevitable triumph!”

  There was a great shout of applause. He glanced up with a smile and waited patiently for it to subside.

  “Your victory opens a new era for our two countries and for mankind. On behalf of the great Soviet peoples, I say we welcome this with eager minds and overflowing hearts. Peace now comes nearer—much nearer, Mr. President.

  “It is within our grasp at last.”

  Again there was the approving roar. Again he waited and went on.

  “Mr. President: Let me make clear to you at once on this historic occasion what I, as Chairman of the Council of Ministers, foresee. Under your Administration, I foresee:

  “An end to the unfortunate intervention by United States imperialist-militarist circles in the two unhappy nations of Gorotoland and Panama.

  “An end to all other unfortunate imperialist-militarist interventions by the United States in the affairs of the world.

  “An end to the arms race which has forced both our countries to divert funds much needed for domestic development into a futile and hopeless attempt to overtake one another.

  “An end to the mutual suspicion and mistrust which have too long divided and embittered our two great peoples.

  “I see an end to all these things, Mr. Pr
esident. I see the start of peace!”

  Once more, hopeful, happy, excited and approving, the roar went up. Ted smiled, nodded, let it run its course.

  “Mr. President, I want to tell you what I would like to have happen when you take office. I speak to you as your friend, who has known and admired you over the years. I feel we can talk frankly to one another. This is what I hope:

  “I hope we will sit down somewhere and discuss our differences with trust and confidence as old friends should.

  “I hope we will agree to abandon hatred and suspicion as a basis for our policies.

  “I hope we will, with ruthless speed, dismantle and destroy all arms except those needed strictly for self-defense.

  “I hope we will withdraw from all useless militaristic-imperialist interventionist adventures.

  “I hope we will bring to our two nations and the world a new era of calm and lasting peace in which our two great peoples can work together in harmony and brotherhood for the betterment of all mankind.

  “This is what I hope, Mr. President. And this is what I know can be achieved.

  “It can be achieved because you are a man of great and farseeing wisdom.

  “It can be achieved because you are a statesman of absolute courage and integrity.

  “It can be achieved because you are a man of peace.

  “It can be achieved because you are my friend!

  “We look with hope to your Presidency, my friend. You will find us ready for a new start. Let us achieve it together!”

  Ten minutes later by press corps count, silence again returned, humming, vibrant, wildly excited, alive with hope and the desperate yearning for peace. Ted stood for a long moment looking out upon his countrymen, his gaze candid and earnest as he stared into the cameras that took his commanding figure across the globe. Then he lifted the two remaining pages of his prepared speech, held them up so all could see, and tore them in two.

  “I say to the Chairman of the Council of Ministers,” he said, and his voice rang out solemn, strong and proud, “Let us begin!”

  And when the last wild shout had finally subsided, he smiled and concluded with a grave yet happy confidence, while in Moscow Vasily Tashikov studied his handsome face on the little screen and smiled to himself a small, self-satisfied smile:

  “My friends, we have a date on Tuesday.

  “Good night!”

  After that, of course, it was indeed all over but the shouting. There were, here and there in some few old-fashioned journals and from some few old-fashioned political figures and members of Congress, some uneasy grumblings about this blatant intervention in American affairs. But from the great majority who wrote, broadcast, editorialized, commented, there came only an ecstatic chorus of approval, congratulation and relief. It was true that there had once been a much-treasured tradition that foreigners should not intervene in American politics, ratified almost into principle in a dozen Presidential contests of the past. But in this case, almost everyone agreed, it was a wondrous and marvelous event, absolutely God-sent. This time the intervention had come on the Right Side of Things, and when anything happened on the Right Side of Things, tradition could be happily abandoned and principle speedily forgotten.

  Two nights later he and Warren Strickland appeared on television in succeeding fifteen-minute segments to deliver the customary election eve statements. Both were dignified, commanding, statesmanlike. Warren looked a little older, a little tireder, a little less handsome; but an impression of great solidity, understanding and integrity came across. Many millions who intended to vote for Governor Jason told one another that, “It’s just too bad Senator Strickland had to run against him, because Senator Strickland’s a damned fine man.” But the sentiment was obviously not going to be enough to help Warren Strickland, as he had known from the moment he had reluctantly agreed to undertake the thankless job of running for his party.

  Ted spoke calmly, quietly, hopefully and with complete confidence. He referred very briefly, somberly, touchingly to his wife; very briefly, hopefully, stirringly to Chairman Tashikov; very quietly, firmly, movingly to his hopes for peace and his plans for the country. The luck of the draw had placed him first, but all through Warren’s speech the memory of Ted’s grave and commanding figure against a slowly rippling flag haunted the screen and dominated the viewers’ minds.

  Next day in their millions the free Americans went freely to vote: and as the sun and the tally swept on west to the Pacific shore an “inevitable outcome” became history’s certainty.

  JASON-CROY LANDSLIDE! IT’S T.J. ALL THE WAY! GOVERNOR WINS 479 ELECTORAL VOTES, TAKES 45 STATES IN MASSIVE SWEEP. POPULAR VOTE 119,563,000 TO 72,333,061. CARRIES BOTH HOUSES OF CONGRESS BY BIG MARGIN. MANY LEADING CONSERVATIVES DEFEATED. LIBERALS IN SADDLE AT LAST. STRICKLAND, PRESIDENT ABBOTT PLEDGE FULL COOPERATION. JASON THANKS U.S. FOR SYMPATHY AND SUPPORT. PRESIDENT-ELECT GIVES PLEDGE TO WORLD:

  “TO END ALL WARS AND THREATS OF WARS IS MY FIRST PRIORITY.”

  4

  “It is one of the more frustrating constitutional necessities of our land,” Frankly Unctuous remarked on his final election roundup at two o’clock in the morning, “that a newly elected President, even one elected with such an overwhelming mandate as the nation has just given Edward M. Jason, must wait two months before he can exercise the power his countrymen wish him to exercise.

  “How fortunate we would all be if President-elect Jason could move immediately into a position to influence policy. How much unnecessary delay and confusion could be avoided if only there were some way to make his talents immediately available to the nation. How unfortunate there is no one of sufficient vision and foresight to get around this barrier and bring President-elect Jason, even if only on an informal basis, immediately and directly into the government he will shortly head.”

  In the Lincoln Bedroom, which, like his two immediate predecessors, he allowed himself the quiet historical satisfaction of using, the President snorted and snapped off the machine.

  “I get your message, little man,” he said aloud to the empty room as he began getting ready for bed, “and your Old Daddy Bill is just the man of vision and foresight you’re looking for.… Although,” he added more somberly, his voice trailing away, “God knows what it will portend for all of us. Including you, smart boy. Including you …”

  At midnight, when returns from California and the Pacific Coast began to come in full strength and it was apparent that Ted Jason’s victory was to be as triumphant there as it was almost everywhere else, the President had issued his congratulatory statement. It was brief, businesslike and to the point. It did not dwell on their policy differences nor did it in any way concede that the results were a repudiation of himself and the last two administrations. It congratulated Ted, pledged him full support, invited him to a conference at 10 a.m. Thursday, promised they would meet the press together at its conclusion. Then he had put in a private call to “Vistazo,” where Ted and his family were waiting out the returns. Within five minutes the Governor’s face appeared on the Picturephone, pleased, excited, yet somehow curiously serene, as though something inward had been decided for him by his countrymen. He spoke first.

  “Thank you for your call and your statement. I’ve just watched it come over. I appreciate your support.”

  “You have it,” the President said.

  “All the way?” Ted asked pleasantly.

  The President smiled.

  “Within reason.”

  Ted smiled in return.

  “Who determines the reason?”

  “For two months,” the President said, “I do. However.” he added, as his successor’s pleased expression dimmed a bit, “I don’t intend to be too arbitrary about it. In fact, what I should like to announce after our meeting on Thursday is that you are going to move into the White House immediately and begin to share my office with me as virtual co-President. How does that strike you?”

  For just a second it was apparent that this struck the Preside
nt-elect very well. Then caution took hold, a veil came down. He spoke with a careful slowness.

  “Mr. President,” he said, “I appreciate the offer. But …”

  “But what? Seems to me I’m being mighty generous, all things considered.”

  “Oh, you are,” Ted agreed hastily. “Indeed you are. I’m very grateful for it, I don’t minimize it for a minute. Nor do I minimize the wonderful opportunity it would be for me to learn the inside of it before I actually have to move in there. It’s just that—well, it goes back in a sense to the same basic issue that came up in our last talk together.”

  “You don’t need the headlines now,” the President pointed out with a wry smile. “You’re in.”

  “It isn’t so much headlines. It’s the matter of fundamental policies. Having cut myself loose from them—”

  “They’ve been repudiated,” the President acknowledged much more bluntly and candidly than he ever would in public. “So what have you got to worry about? You’ve won the argument. I’ve got to help you devise new policies now. And you have to help me dismantle old ones.”

  “Yes?” Ted inquired warily. “Which old ones?”

  “Take your pick.”

  Ted smiled.

  “With how many exceptions?”